


Best Foot Forward

by rosewiththorns



Series: Hot Blood [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Discussion Of Collaring, Discussion of Rules and Consequences, Dominant/Submissive, Establishing Relationship Dynamics, Fondling, Foot Message, French Kissing, Kissing, M/M, References to Spanking, Sexual Submission, discussion of limits, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has rules, consequences, and limits for Hank. Please read the author's note for an important warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Foot Forward

**Author's Note:**

> As a sequel to "Blood Will Out," this story contains references to prior physical and emotional abuse suffered by Hank, so please make an informed decision about reading this piece.

Best Foot Forward

Hank had been silent for most of the ride back to Steve’s house, staring out the window and letting the parks, homes, and stores whirl past in a stream of Steve’s commentary about which pizzerias delivered and which cafes offered the quietest spots to simply sit and sip coffee, content to have Steve’s words wash over him, even if he couldn’t drink in them all without feeling overwhelmed. 

However, when they drove past a jeweler’s, he felt compelled to ask, “Master, may I speak?” 

“Obviously you have just done so.” Steve’s lips quirked into a wry grin. “You may speak freely, though.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Hank nibbled his lip and went on in a mumble, grateful that he was in a car, so he could gaze at the dashboard rather than his dom as he posed his awkward inquiry, “Um, now that’s you’ve claimed me, how are you going to show ownership of me?” 

“Hmm.” Steve’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he shot Hank a considering glance. “I suppose the traditional way is a collar.” 

“A collar,” echoed Hank, his right hand reflexively reaching up to massage his neck where Erik’s collar, cut with spikes that had always dug into the tender flesh, especially when Erik tugged on it whenever he wanted to reprimand Hank or just ensure that he had Hank’s attention. Just the memory of Erik’s collar made Hank feel like he was choking and would never have enough oxygen in his lungs again. “Yes, that is traditional, sir.” 

“But—“ Steve’s eyes flicked over the hand Hank was rubbing along his throat, and, suddenly self-conscious as he wondered what Steve must think of his bizarre gesture, dropped it back into his lap, folding it neatly with his left—“just because something is traditional doesn’t mean it has to be done or that it’s the best way for us, and I can see you aren’t comfortable with the idea of being collared.” 

“Sorry, Master.” Hank’s gaze sank to the car’s carpets, flinching at the prospect of already having disappointed his dom. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve’s palm stretched out to pat Hank’s knee before returning to the steering wheel. “This relationship is supposed to make us both happy, love. I don’t want a collar or anything else coming between us as a constant sort of friction.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Hank rubbed his fingers over the warmth Steve’s hand had left behind on his leg, because it felt so unnatural but wonderful to have dom touch him gently. 

“We could have you wear something more subtle,” suggested Steve, turning down a residential streets with houses that could better be termed as mansions complete with sprawling, well-manicured lawns. “A necklace perhaps? I know that Brett bought Pavel that cross necklace he wears all the time.” 

“Necklaces choke,” Hank said so softly that he was surprised Steve could hear him, hand moving up to massage his neck again. 

“Not if you don’t get them caught on things and remember to take them off before bed.” Steve studied Hank carefully from beneath a furrowed forehead as he pulled the car down a circular driveway, stopping before the entrance into a house so grand that Hank had trouble imagining what it would be like living inside it. 

“If someone tugs on it, you choke, Master,” muttered Hank, not wanting to argue, but unable to trap the memory of how it felt to have Erik jerk on his collar so hard his neck cracked in protest and then have Erik squeeze the collar so tight that it felt like a boa constrictor suffocating the air and energy from his body. Fireworks popped in his brain just at the recollection of the colorful displays his mind had produced either as a product of oxygen deprivation or as a coping mechanism to block out the pain of being choked. 

“I’ll never choke you with anything.” Steve squeezed the nape of Hank’s neck, and Hank, despite knowing in his head that Steve wasn’t trying to suffocate him, winced. Removing his hand at Hank’s cringing reaction to his affectionate touch, Steve added, “I’ll come up with something that you and I will both know marks you as my dear sub, and it won’t involve choking. How does that sound, pet?” 

“Excellent.” Eager to demonstrate that he was appreciative of his dom’s efforts to assuage his fears and accommodate his desires, Hank bobbed his head in enthusiastic affirmation. “Thank you, Master.” 

“Good boy. You’re being so polite to your dom.” Steve ruffled Hank’s hair, and Hank, unaccustomed to being praised rather than berated by his dom, glowed like a diamond in the sunshine. “Keep being courteous for me, all right? There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

“I’m happy to meet anyone Master wants me to,” Hank answered, as Steve, hands wrapped around his wrists, guided him out of the car and down the cobblestone pathway toward the mansion Steve called home. As Steve pulled him close, winding a snug arm around his waist to bind him to his chest, Hank wondered what Steve had in mind when he referred to meeting somebody. Sometimes Erik had liked to show Hank off—making him strip in front of jeering teammates, who would be allowed to pinch him, hit him, and fuck every orifice until he bled from his lips and from his anus—while Erik watched, laughing and making every degrading comment he could think of about Hank’s battered body and abused condition. He hoped that Steve wouldn’t subject him to the same pain and humiliation, because Erik had done it often enough to last him a lifetime…

He must have shivered, because Steve plastered a tender kiss across the top of his forehead. “Relax, my dear little sub. I only want you to meet my live-in housekeeper, and you don’t have anything to fear from her unless you are a dustball. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” 

Reassured as he pictured meeting a friendly woman who cooked warm meals and waged war only against dirt, Hank let Steve nudge him into the foyer, where a plump woman with charcoal black curls, ocean eyes, and roses in her cheeks to match the ones printed on her dress, looked up from dusting a lamp on a cherry table to ask, beaming a welcome at Hank, “Why, who is this, Steve?” 

“My new sub.” Steve clutched Hank’s shoulders in reassurance. “His name is Hank. He just came over from Sweden.” 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Setting down the duster, the woman bustled over to shake Hank’s hand. “I’m Grace, Steve’s housekeeper. I do all the cooking and cleaning needed to make this house a home.” 

“Everything looks perfect, and dinner smells delicious, ma’am.” Hank wasn’t just giving the compliment because Mamma had taught him that it was polite to do so, but because everything looked almost too pristine to touch and the smell wafting from the kitchen was pungent with fresh herbs mingled with tomato. 

“This one is polite, calling me ma’am when most just take the liberty of calling me Grace.” Grace directed this remark to Steve even as she patted Hank on the cheek. Fixing her gaze back on Hank, Grace continued, “If you’re from Sweden, Hank, you might not have had chicken parmesan before, but I assure you that you’ll love it. It’s juicy chicken slathered in fresh tomato sauce and melted mozzarella cheese, so what’s not to like?” 

“I look forward to trying it, ma’am,” Hank replied, but he wasn’t sure that she heard, since she had resumed her dusting, which seemed to have engrossed her. 

“Take off your shoes, Hank.” Steve punctuated this order with a mild tap on Hank’s backside. 

Obeying instantly, Hank bent to remove his shoes, feeling Steve’s hands cup and squeeze at his buttocks and thighs as he untied the laces, slipped the shoes off his feet, and tucked them into a row in the closet. As Steve fondled his hindquarters, Hank felt a blush break out, crimson as a sunset, across his face, although he told himself that his embarrassment was utterly illogical when Steve had already inspected his naked body and fondled him until he came, but somehow the memory of his earlier intimacy with Steve only made him feel more bashful. 

When Hank rose from stowing his shoes in the closet, Steve commanded, sitting down in a chair across from the closet and lifting his feet, “Kneel and take off my shoes for me, Hank.” 

Feeling somehow awkward even though he knew this was a standard service subs were expected to perform for their doms without complaint or question, Hank dropped to his knees, appreciating the plushness of the carpet covering the otherwise cold and hard tile of Steve’s foyer, and tentatively untied first one shoe and then the other, placing the shoes neatly in line in the closet as he took them off. 

He was about to ask permission to rise when Steve, wiggling his feet in Hank’s hands, observed, “My feet are tired after a long day of practice. Please massage them for me.” 

This was unfamiliar territory to Hank, since Erik’s only foot fetish had been kicking Hank in the face or caning Hank’s feet until the skin split and the bones threatened to break, so he choked out, afraid of disappointing his current dom by refusing to perform a demanded service but also terrified that he would be punished for performing such a service in an unsatisfactory fashion, “I-I never massaged feet before, Master.” 

“Just do your best and with practice you’ll improve, love.” Steve’s fingers tangled in Hank’s hair, insistent but still gentle. “Rub, squeeze, and pat, and you’ll get out all the tension and ache.”

“Yes, sir.” Hank ducked his head, confident that any further protest would earn him a trip over his dom’s knee or worse, and began to stroke the arches of Steve’s feet. When he heard faint mewling noises from Steve, he figured that he was doing something right and drifted his attention down to attend to the balls of Steve’s feet. Once he felt the knots relaxing in the balls of Steve’s feet, he trailed his fingers up to Steve’s toes, squeezing them and rubbing away the sock lint trapped in the crevices between them. 

“You’re a natural.” Steve leaned forward to kiss Hank on the lips as Hank finished his ministrations to Steve’s feet. Patting his lap, Steve offered, “Climb up, pet, and I’ll give you a foot massage for being so good.” 

Not needing to be told twice, Hank hopped onto Steve’s lap, allowing Steve to adjust him so that he was supported against Steve’s strong chest as Steve lifted his feet and began to stroke them. The sensation of Steve rubbing at his feet made his skin tickle, and, before he could stop himself, he was giggling and squirming like an antsy toddler over Steve’s knees. 

“That tickles, huh?” Steve went from a massaging motion to an outright tickling one. 

“Yes.” Hank squealed, too breathless to remember to address his dom, but Steve, busy tickling him, did not seem to mind. 

“You’re laughter is a lovely sound.” Steve chuckled, as if he were the one being tickled, and, as Hank began to howl with mingled hilarity and frustration, “Want me to stop?” 

“Yes, please, Master.” This time Hank recalled his manners and included a proper title. 

“All right.” Steve patted the balls of Hank’s feet as he prodded Hank off his lap. “Up you get, love. Massage is over.” 

Guiding Hank upstairs with a firm hand beneath his elbow, Steve informed him, “I’ll show you to your room and then we’ll talk about rules, consequences, and limits just as I promised.” 

Hank nodded an assent to his dom’s declaration as Steve led him into a room with a Turkish carpet, burgundy wallpaper, a king-bed decked out in satin, gold sheets, and a fine maple dresser complete with a matching desk, nightstand, and bookshelf. When Hank was done gaping at the decor of the room, Steve steered him into a walk-in closet, commenting, “You should have room for all your clothes in here.” 

“I will, sir.” Hank wanted to kiss Steve in gratitude for his generous accomodations, but was anxious about being punished for kissing his dom without permission, because that was an undisciplined behavior Erik would never have permitted, so he contented himself with leaning more fully into the arm Steve had slung about his waist. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Steve gave Hank’s bottom a pat that was equal parts affectionate and nudging. “Let me show you the bathroom.” 

The bathroom turned out to have a stocked linen closet, a full bath, a hot tub with many tempting jets and spouts, a double sink, a mirror over the granite counter, and a full-length mirror hanging from the door. Hank could only stutter out his gratitude as Steve steered him back into the bedroom and motioned for him to take a seat on the bed. 

Once they had settled themselves into the malleable mattress, Steve reached out to take Hank’s hand between his own and started, “I care about you, Hank, and I want us to have a deep, healthy relationship, where I meet your needs and desires, and you do the same for me.” 

This seemed to require a response, so Hank swallowed a lump in his throat and agreed, “That’s what I want, too, Master.” 

“Good.” Steve squeezed Hank’s hand. “As your dom, I will have rules for you, not because I’m cruel and want to abuse you but because I love you and want to guide and protect you. Apart from my general expectation that you will obey all the laws of this land and strive to be a moral person, I have some key rules that I expect you to follow or face punishment.” 

Steve paused to eye Hank, as if checking that he was listening attentively. Apparently satisfied on that count, he went on, “You’ve been doing a great job treating me respectfully, and I’ll require that you continue to do so, calling me Master or sir in private, and Captain or Steve when we are with the team. In addition to treating me with respect, you’ll treat your teammates and coaches with respect, which means showing up on time for all team events and working hard in practice among other things. At home, you’ll always treat Grace with courtesy, and that entails keeping this house clean—even pitching in with the cooking or house-cleaning if she requests it—and not pouting about any of the meals that she makes. Understand, Hank?” 

“Yes, sir.” Hank gazed earnestly into his dom’s eyes. “I don’t want to disrespect you or disgrace you and me by acting rudely toward others.” 

“Good.” Steve patted his hand. “I don’t want you pouting at any of the meals Grace makes not only because it is disrespectful, but because ensuring that you have a healthy diet is extremely important to me. That is why I will require you to eat every bite of dinner that Grace prepares for you without complaint…” 

“What if I’m not hungry, Master?” Hank interrupted before he could put a tether on his tongue. 

“Then you’ll eat all your food or accept a spanking on your bare butt.” Sterner than he had ever been with Hank, Steve clutched Hank’s shoulders and gave them a single, strong shake. “It’s either a clean plate or a red bottom for you. The choice is yours, but those are your options for every meal we eat at home.” 

Hank thought that particular choice akin to picking between a rock and a hard place to smash your skull against, but figured saying so would only land him in trouble, so he remained silent as Steve, tone softening again at Hank’s lack of argument, continued, “For all the meals we have at home, you will sit on my lap while we eat. You may drink as many glasses of water or milk as you like, but you will only be permitted to drink a single glass of soda if I offer you the chance to earn it with a sexual service. Dessert will work the same way. When we are eating out, you won’t be required to sit on my lap but you will have to get my approval for every dish that you order, because your diet is important to me, pet. That’s why you’ll be allowed to have as many healthy snacks—fruits and vegetables and other rabbit food—as you want, but you may not help yourself to any junk food or sugary drinks without my permission.” 

Hank, who could get a hankering for comfort food, sighed, but, seeing that it was a rule in place to keep him healthy, felt that he could not grumble, so instead he said, “I understand, sir.” 

“Good boy.” Steve ruffled Hank’s hair. “Just a few more rules to go now. With regard to curfew, I will expect you back at midnight unless I consent in advance to you being out later than that. I expect you to kneel for me when I order you to do so, and I will want you to take off my shoes and massage my feet when we return from games or practices. I also don’t expect to have to remind you to take off your shoes to preserve the cleanliness of this house when you walk into it. Those are the basics. We’ll establish more rules as necessary.” 

“Yes, Master.” Hank shot his dom a sidelong glance. “Not that I’m planning on disobeying you, but how do you plan on punishing me if I break your rules.” 

“You already accepted that I will spank you on your bare butt if you don’t clean your plate at dinner.” Steve cupped Hank’s chin between his palms. “I take it that means you are comfortable with spanking as a means of discipline, love.” 

“As comfortable as anyone can be with the pain of a spanking, sir.” Hank’s cheeks burned. 

“That’s good because I believe that spanking is a good way of disciplining my sub.” Steve’s palms drifted up to stroke Hank’s flushed cheeks. “If you don’t keep this house clean, I’ll spank you and assign you extra chores so you can appreciate all the sweat and tears that go into keeping this place tidy. If you treat me, Grace, a teammate, or a coach with disrespect, I will wash your mouth out with soap and spank you. If you miss curfew, I will spank you and ground you for two weeks. If you refuse to kneel for me, I will strip you naked, have you stand in a corner for ten to fifteen minutes, and then spank you on your bare butt. Same thing will happen if you refuse to massage my feet.” 

“Understood, Master.” Hank knew that, even if it sounded like a lot of rules and consequences to remember, the rules weren’t nearly as many as they had been with Erik and the consequences were much less brutal. 

“Good boy.” Steve kissed Hank’s forehead. “Of course, not every punishment will entail a spanking. For instance, if I catch you stealing unhealthy food from the kitchen, I just won’t let you eat dessert or drink soda for a week.” 

“That’s nice to know, sir.” Hank managed a tremulous grin. 

“I thought you’d say that.” Steve patted Hank’s cheeks. “I also want you to know that there are certain things I won’t ever do when I’m punishing you. Those things include choking you, chaining you, burning you, beating you, or in general doing anything that might draw blood from you, because the point of discipling you is not to hurt you or degrade you, but to correct you and help you become a better person. Everything I mentioned is a hard limit for me—a line in the sand I’m not going to cross with you.” 

“Master has such good limits.” Hank nuzzled against Steve, a peaceful feeling folding over him like a blanket as he realized that Steve didn’t want to choke, chain, burn, beat, or torture him, a refreshing change from Erik, who often seemed as if he had no interest in Hank except to use him as a target for those displays of domination. He hadn’t even appreciated how much he had been starved for this kind of love from a dom until Steve had started giving it to him. 

“I’m glad you think so, pet. That means we’re compatible.” Steve kneaded Hank’s shoulders. “Tell me, do you have any limits you want me to know about?” 

“Not—not right now, sir.” Hank didn’t feel like discussing his limits since it came too close to talking about his past with Erik, and talking about his past with Erik would mean making himself feel degraded again and slicing open wounds that had only begun to scab. “You covered all the major ones.” 

“Okay.” Steve hugged Hank against his chest, so that Hank could hear his heart beating a counterpart to his words. “If I do cross a line with you, I need you to tell me that right away, though. I’ll never do anything to deliberately hurt you, I promise, but if I do something that causes you pain, I need you to tell me, so I can stop immediately. You have my word that I’ll do my best to monitor your reactions to things so I don’t break one of your limits, but I’m not a mind reader, just a dom, so I need you to communicate if something is fundamentally uncomfortable for you. Communication is crucial here, my dear little sub.” 

“Yes, Master,” whispered Hank, thinking he would try his best to communicate his limits, but the chains his past had tied around his heart and his shame at the horrible things he had allowed to be done to him (because he was a sub, and good subs obeyed their doms without argument and submitted to whatever their dome commanded, and he wanted to be a good sub, not a bad one who deserved to be punished even more) and that a nasty voice inside him hissed he had earned by being an imperfect submissive would keep his mouth nailed shut at times, he was sure. After all, he didn’t want Steve thinking, too, that he was a bad sub who had deserved all those awful punishments, or that he was a sulky sub who pouted when his dom disciplined him…

“Then that’s enough talk for now.” Steve brushed his lips across Hank’s, pushing his tongue lightly through the barrier of Hank’s lips to explore Hank’s mouth, cutting into the caverns on the inside of his cheeks and toying with Hank’s tongue before darting out again. “Grace will have dinner ready. Let’s go eat.”


End file.
